


Roadside Find

by baixue88



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Caning, Car Sex, Chains, Daddy Kink, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baixue88/pseuds/baixue88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless porn ahead. Takes place around 10 years before the events of MMFR. Tanny runs away from Bartertown and falls into Immortan Joe's clutches, and they fuck like rabbits in every possible way. This is strictly plotless, gratuitous porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tanny should, by all accounts, be terrified. She’s in the front seat of a car filled with strange, painted men, and driving the machine is a huge man, long white-blond hair spilling down his back, the lower part of his face covered in a horrible, skull-like mask that makes his breath turn into a hiss. All around her, she can hear the roar of motors, the hollering of a war party.

They gave her water as soon as she woke up, and bandaged up her leg. She’d hit some kind of abandoned trip wire out in the wastes that had thrown her into a pit full of spikes. It was pure luck that she’d only impaled her leg and nothing else – and pure luck that whoever set the trap wasn’t around. The last thing she’d been aware of was the roar of motors far behind her before she sank down onto the sand, her vision fading.

Waking up and looking across at him doesn’t scare her like she knows it should. Well, no, it does – but in the same way she used to feel scared back in Bartertown, watching the vicious fights in the Thunderdome, cheering until her throat went sore.

There’s nothing Tanny can do now, not unless she wants to throw herself out of a car moving at 80 kilometers an hour. So she just sits and looks. He’s not the monster he looked like when she first came to; his armor seems to be covering a once-strong body slowly losing the fight to age and idleness. And he’s surrounded by skulls; skulls on the ceiling, on his gearshift, on his face.

She grew up around death down in Bartertown. The skull imagery doesn’t scare her. It’s his eyes that scare her; royal blue and smiling coldly at her over his mask whenever he glances over. When their eyes meet, a shot of terror runs hot from her core to down between her legs, and she shudders a little.

But she doesn’t look away.

\--

The sun slowly disappears over the horizon, painting the Wastes with purple-red hues. The man driving shouts an order, and the entire party slows into a crawl and then putters to a stop. The jolt sends a jagged edge of pain through her already-screaming leg, and Tanny has to grit her teeth.

“We rest here,” he says, and clicks the engine off, and turns to look back at the men behind him. “Get out and leave us until the morning.”

“Just a quick boost,” someone says, and from the back crawls a bearded man covered in pockets. He pulls out a needle and winks at Tanny. “Leg hurtin’ ya, love?”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” she mutters, her voice hoarse from such long silence. She can’t remember the last time she talked to someone else. Not since she left Bartertown, at least.

The man nods and, before she can object, jabs the needle into her leg. “ _Hey!_ ”

“Relax, just a painkiller. You’ll feel right as rain in a few.”

The man in the driver’s seat says nothing; he’s just sitting back, arms crossed, watching her with a patient, calculating stare.

The bearded man grins and winks at the man in the skull mask and follows the others as they pile out of the back. He wasn’t lying; it hardly takes a minute before the drug seeps into her bones, dulling the agony and giving the rest of her a warm, slippery feeling. She sinks back against the leather of the seat, sighing in relief.

“So who do I thank for saving my ass?” Her voice is like gravel.

The man’s eyes are smiling again. “God.”

She’s not sure what to say to that. She’s heard a lot of things in her life, but never a claim to godhood. 

“Allfather,” he continues. “He Who Grabs the Sun.” He reaches out, his hand on her knee. “Ruler of the West. Immortan Joe.”

She should kick him off her; she’s done it plenty of times before with the slime in Bartertown. But the drug is smooth and creamy in her veins and the weight of his hand sends another jolt of terror between her legs, just like when Big Lad slammed that ax blade into Surgeon’s skull that one night, _the best kill she’d ever seen_ –

She lets out a soft sigh, and that’s all Joe needs. His hand slides up her leather-clad leg as he leans forward. For a moment, she thinks he’s about to kiss her with that mask still on, but instead he just takes hold of her jaw and looks closely at her.

“You will call me Daddy,” He tells her.

She swallows and tries her hardest not to crack a smile. _Daddy? Who is this guy kidding?_

“You want me to…call you…?”

“Daddy,” he whispers through the teeth of the mask, and they brush against her cheek as he does. She can’t help it; she shivers, her whole body trembling, and he feels it beneath his hands. His scent is overwhelming her; talc and sand and car grease and something else fleshy beneath that.

He sits back, giving her room to move. “Get in the back.”

Tanny glances out the window. She could get out, run, but she can see the shadows of cars outside, soldiers moving around fires.

She moves to the back, lying down and watching him as he fumbles with his armor and pulls it off. She was right, it turns out; his body is aged and soft, hidden by the falsely muscled molding of his armor. Even so, he still clearly has strength in his massive frame, and a horrible energy burning bright in his eyes.

That’s when the glint of a barrel catches her eye; there’s a gun, just a shotgun really, holstered to the side of the vehicle. She goes for it.

She never even gets close to touching it before she feels the cold muzzle of a pistol pressing against her left temple.

“Bad girl,” Joe murmurs. “Stay still.” With his free hand, he takes the shotgun and tosses it out the back, never moving his pistol from her head. He’s practically on top of her, leaning all the way over her frame, his knees on either side of her waist.

She’s not sure why, but she does move – just enough to turn her head so she can lick the silvery barrel.

 _You’re pushing it_ , she tells herself, remembering her father’s warning voice. _You’re really pushing it this time_. But she still can’t bring herself to care. She’s floating in this darkness, anchored down only by the ache in her cunt.

But he doesn’t get annoyed or angry. His breath falters as he watches her tongue, and without further ado shoves the muzzle fully into her mouth, working it in and out, forcing her to blow it with a strange kind of boyish fascination. She plays along, matching him move for move, running her tongue over the cold metal and sucking it gently. It’s weird, weird as hell, but this is a man who thinks he’s a god and wants her to call him “Daddy” instead of “Joe” or whatever his real name is.

It still beats drying out in the desert. And, truth be told, this is hardly the first time she’s practiced fellatio on an inanimate object. It’s the first time she’s ever done it for an audience, though, and the old man is watching her with a sick fascination that makes her tingle in all the right ways. Her mind’s all fuzzy at the edges, and maybe she’d have been faster at grabbing the shotgun, but isn’t this why she left Bartertown? Get away from the stench of the everyday? And this sure isn’t fucking everyday.

He pulls the gun from her lips and traces it down her neck to the opening of her shirt, leaving a trail of her saliva. The snaps of her shirt pop open with a little pressure and he uses the gun to nudge open her shirt, exposing her right breast so that he can gently circle the muzzle around it in spirals up to her nipple. The chill of the gunsteel makes her shiver again, even though beads of sweat are forming along her forehead and chest. Without even thinking about it, she arches upward to the touch, biting hard on her lip.

“Good, child. Good.” He balances himself above her, pressing the gun back against her cheek as he slides his hand down her bare stomach and under the waistband of her pants. She doesn’t wear underwear – hasn’t in years – and this seems to please him, because she hears a little noise emerge from behind his mask. When she feels his huge, rough fingers dip into her, she gasps.

Joe makes a noise that sounds like a laugh. “Wetter than an ocean,” he hisses through his mask, and she feels his fingers, dripping with her own taste, press between her lips. “Here, girl, taste yourself.”

There doesn’t need to be a gun to her head; she obediently sucks and licks every drop from his fingers, squirming for him to touch her there again. She can feel him laughing at her through his chest.

“More?”

She nods, and with a swift jerk he yanks her pants down around her knees. His fingers, however, stay in her mouth, and it’s the gun that moves, dancing in an icy little line down between her breasts, dipping briefly against her bellybutton, and finally nudging itself between her folds. She shudders in horror and need as he pulls back the hammer and rubs the muzzle against her clit in little circles.

“You want it?” He growls at her, not even bothering to tell her what _it_ is. “You want this?”

“Yes,” she chokes out, jerking her hips against the metal. The pressure against her, _oh_ the pressure, it’s too much.

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Not quite,” He corrects her. “You know what to call me. _Still_ …,” he moves the barrel, and presses it to her entrance. “I’ll give you _this_.”

When he pushes it in, she finally loses her cool. She screams. She’s not sure if it’s pain or not. It doesn’t hurt, not really, not with the drugs in her system, but there’s still something horrible and invasive and _sudden_. It will hurt in the morning, it will hurt so bad, but for now it’s just the _knowledge_ and the _disgust_ and the _revolting_ fact that she’s wishing it was this ugly old bastard’s cock instead.

She thinks she should be throwing up, but instead she rocks her hips as he fucks her with the gun, and she hears the sound of skin on skin and realizes that he’s got his cock out, kneading at it with the same roughness as he’s gun-fucking her. It’s cocked and loaded and could go off at any time, with just the press of a trigger, and just that knowledge is making her so slick that the barrel makes a thick slurping noise with every thrust. She’s going to be in incredible pain the next day, she knows, but right now she’s too far away, too overwhelmed with desire, rocking in the clouds.

When he finally pulls it out, she’s left sore and empty and moaning, her limbs weak and trembling. He doesn’t let her rest; he grabs her and flips her over, grabbing her ass hard. But he doesn’t enter, not yet. Instead, he presses his hand between her legs, massaging and rubbing at her where she most aches.

“Ready yet?”

“Yes!” She cries, “Yes, please, I’m ready!”

His hand slams against her ass, making her gasp. “Wrong.”

“I need it, please.”

“Please _what_?” Another smack, counteracted by the way he’s stroking her clit.

She won’t say it. She won’t say it. She won’t give him that satisfaction. She’s not going to play into this dirty old man’s ego like _that_.

He keeps up the strokes, pushing her until her head is spinning, and when she’s finally sobbing for release he lets go, leaves her cold and weeping with need. He smacks her ass once more, and without even letting her regain her breath, plunges inside. He doesn’t even ease in, and she’s left reeling from the impact.

Joe starts up a jagged rhythm, fingers digging into her waist as he slams into her over and over again, leaving her bruised and moaning for more.

“Please,” she manages to choke out again, unable to keep her silence any longer. “Please, god, please, just let me -”

 _Smack_.

“I just…I need…”

 _Smack_.

He angles his hips a little with the second blow, and it hits something within her and she can no longer contained the howl that bubbles up from her core.

“Please!” She shrieks, desperate and abandoned. “Please, Daddy! Let me come!”

His fingers return to her clit, rubbing, teasing, taunting.

“Again,” he tells her.

She can’t stop crying – deep, heaving sobs that wrack her entire body. “Daddy. Daddy, please fuck me harder. Oh, god, Daddy, _please_!”

He shoves her over the edge, bellowing with his own orgasm at the same time. Her muscles jerk and spasm as he empties himself inside of her. As soon as he lets go of her, she melts in a heap onto the floor of the car, still shaking and weak.

Distantly, she’s aware of him cleaning himself off, dipping his fingers between her legs one last time to feel where he planted his seed. She closes her eyes and gives herself up to the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanny plans an escape. It doesn't go quite as planned.

When she wakes up, the drugs have well worn off, and everything hurts. Tanny hasn’t been in this much pain for a while, not even during her entourage training in Bartertown. The worst is below her waist, a long line of agony running up from her wounded leg and through her cunt, which feels like it’s been scraped raw and kicked repeatedly by a steel-toed boot. Her torso and arms are covered in bruises, too. She can’t move without wincing.

Even so, this is her chance. Joe is fast asleep beside her, snoring like a chainsaw. Apparently he’d assumed she can’t run, not with that leg.

_Well, I can try._

Quiet as a mouse, she drags herself towards the back of the car bed, where it’s open to the air. She peers over the end, squinting through the faintest rays of dawn. It’s a huge drop for her in this condition, but what else is she going to do? The camp is quiet; she can see a lookout perched up high, but he’s looking across the desert, not down at the armada.

Tanny takes a deep breath, counts to three, and drops. She has to bite her own hand to keep from screaming when she lands, and her vision turns blurry for a moment. She curls up in a ball, breathing deep and steady as she tries to get her world to stop spinning and her stomach to stop lurching.

After what seems like an agonizingly long time, she’s able to move again, though her leg is still screaming in loud throbs. She can feel the bleeding restarting, dribbling down her leg. It’s going to leave tracks, but she has to risk it.

She begins painstakingly crawling north, towards a high ridge. If she can get up and over that, she might be able to find a place to hide. She’s half-dragging her leg behind her, chanting to herself to just keep going, just keep going. As much as she grudgingly has to admit that Joe was the best fuck she’d had in a while, it’s pretty clear that it’d be a bad idea to stick around with him. He’s not the kind of guy you can just fuck around with for fun; no warlord is. Even Aunty, who had always been careful to act like a benevolent and reasonable ruler, was not someone you’d want to share a bed with unless you were ready for a pretty serious kind of commitment. So really, there’s no choice here. Even if she has to get stranded in the Waste, it’s probably a better plan than whatever Joe has in mind.

The sun is coming up fast, too fast, and panic begins to set in. Heart pounding, sweat pouring down her body and sticking her red hair to her forehead, Tanny drags herself forward. She goes under cars when she can, trying to keep out of sight as much as possible. Her arms and shoulders begin to ache hard, still sore from the workout Joe gave her and now groaning with the exertion of dragging her weight. She can’t even begin to think about limping now, not on this leg, not with her pelvis feeling like it’s been split open.

But then, of course, everything goes to hell.

Tanny crawls from the deep shadows of one car to another, and she doesn’t see the man until it’s too late. He’s sleeping under the car, and as she moves past, his eyes open wide and white, surrounded by black circles.

Immediately, he sends up a shout, and the whole camp jumps awake.

Pain is no matter now. Tanny scrambles out from under the car and forces herself to her feet, limp-running as fast as she can away from the cars. Not fast enough. White hands close around her arms and drag her back. She can’t even try to fight; she just goes limp, all dead weight, her bloody leg dragging a trail of blood as they pull her back to the center of camp.

She’s thrown to the ground as she hears a car door slam, and she looks up to see Immortan Joe striding towards her, a wooden scepter in his fist, his armor back in place. She can’t see his face, but his eyes are cold above his mask. Not even angry. Just _annoyed_.

Tanny shudders, but says nothing.

“I thought I made it clear,” he begins, his voice booming loud enough for all to hear him, “what I expected from you last night. And yet you disobey.”

She can’t argue with that. Instead she just sits on the ground and stares defiantly up at him, hating the fact that his voice, his stride, his posture are all reminding her of the pleasure from last night, the orgasms that rocked through her body as she screamed and begged. Now, looking at him, there is wetness between her thighs that is neither sweat nor blood.

“I pulled you from the dirt, bandaged your leg, gave you medicine and water, and yet you give me no gratitude. You are an ungrateful brat.”

She spits at him. It lands on the toe of his boot. In response, Joe grabs her by the hair, wrapping it around his fist so he can pull her up uncomfortably to her knees.

“This ungrateful girl has been disobedient to her God!” He shouts to the surrounding crowd. The entire army is awake by now, staring in curiosity at the spectacle. “And what does Daddy do when a child is disobedient?”

“Punish!” Someone yells. She can’t see them. Other voices begin to take up the shout. “Punish! Punish her!”

She shivers, looking around at the faces, wishing she’d stayed in that car and let him fuck her raw over and over again. He’s probably going to shoot her or something now, and that seems like a rather anticlimactic ending to all this. She’d rather have his gun back up her pussy.

 _At least I got to find out the weird shit I like before I die_ , she thinks grimly, looking for a sympathizing face in the crowd. There are none. The only one who isn’t cheering is an old man covered in bandoliers, who just scowls and spits, rolling his eyes.

Joe releases her hair and she drops gratefully back to the ground. Even so, the reprieve doesn’t last for long. Joe gestures sharply for two men with black foreheads, and they trot forward, grabbing her by the arms again.

“Bent over,” Joe says. “Hands on the fender.”

Vaguely through the pain, she can feel shackles put on her wrists and chains fastened from them to the fender of Joe’s huge black double-Cadillac. Her head is pushed down and her legs kicked open so that she’s standing, ass up and exposed. Rough hands rip her sweat-stained leather pants down. She has to resist screaming as they handle her wounded leg. Tanny can feel the eyes of the crowd on her ass, her exposed cunt, curious and hungry.

For some reason, this just makes the tingling between her legs worse.

She hears Joe’s footsteps behind her, and rough fingers push between her legs.

“Wet already,” Joe mutters. “At least _this_ part of you is obedient.”

He pulls his hand back and smacks her pussy, hard. She has to resist the urge to moan.

“How many?” He shouts out, holding up his scepter.

“Twenty!”

“Fifty!”

“Eighty-eight!”

Joe laughs. “Thirty for today, I think. Keep count for me, boys!”

The first blow lands. She’s been trained to take pain, trained to fight, to protect Aunty, but when the wood cracks against her exposed backside, Tanny screams.

She screams until her throat goes raw, her cries drowning out the crowd’s counting in her own ears. Her legs give out at five, and the two men with black foreheads have to hold her up, their hands at her breasts and stomach. By fifteen, she can’t remember how long she’s been there, and she can’t scream any longer. By the time the blows cease, her world has become hazy and faded, and all she can do is moan softly.

The hand returns between her legs.

“Still wet. Incredible. Have you learned your lesson yet, girl?”

She can barely mouth an answer.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you.”

She repeats it.

“Louder. My War Boys can’t hear you.”

“Yes, Daddy!” She cries out with her last ounce of strength, her throat burning.

“Good girl. Mechanic!”

The bearded man trots forward, and soon she feels the needle in her leg, and within moments the sweet, gentle tones of the drug drift through her veins. Joe takes out a bottle and Tanny gasps as he dribbles a cool little stream of water over her bloody ass.

“Do you need a drink, girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whimpers, hating herself. She is parched from the sweating and the bleeding and the weeping.

“Good girl,” he repeats, and puts the bottle to her lips. She drinks greedily as she leans against the fender. She can stand easier now, the pain in her leg and ass dulled to a gentle pulse.

Too soon, he pulls the bottle away.

“Now,” he murmurs, gently dabbing blood from her thighs. “Daddy has to show you he forgives you.”

A shiver runs through her.

Joe turns to the crowd again, shouting as he unbuckles his belt and lets it drop to the ground with a thud. “I forgive my children when they learn to obey. I have grabbed the sun, and I bring its merciful light to those who ask!”

The men shout in glee and praise, cheering him on. Their thirst for blood is sated, and now they thirst for grace.

Joe gives it. Tanny hears the ruffling of cloth as he opens his pants, and then feels the head of his cock press to her entrance.

 “Daughter,” Joe hisses through his mask, “you are forgiven.”

 He thrusts in. Tanny moans loud enough for all to hear despite the rawness of her throat.

 Joe grasps her by the front of her thighs, pumping rough into her as the crowd cheers him on. Tanny closes her eyes, losing herself in the cheering, the slap of his flesh against hers, floating away on the painkiller. She can distantly hear herself moaning, gasping for Joe to fuck her harder and faster. All that’s real is the warming metal under her hands and Joe’s cock inside of her, coated in the wetness that’s dripping down her legs to mix with the blood from her wound.

 She’s not sure if it’s because she’s begging for it or not – she’s lost track of what she’s begging for – but as he fucks her, he reaches around, calloused fingers finding her clit and rubbing at it gently. Her moans escalate into cries and screams, her arms and legs quivering at the edge of her orgasm.

 And finally, finally, he lets her go over the edge. She screams, abandoned, the world spinning out of existence as she forgets all shame, all dignity, begging Joe and calling him ‘Daddy’ for the cheering crowd’s enjoyment.

 Joe rocks against her a couple more times, emptying himself with a satisfied groan, and then he pulls back and lets her collapse forward. She hits the ground on her knees, her cheek against the metal of the fender, arms spread wide by her chains as if she’s embracing the car.

 Joe tucks himself back inside his pants and puts his belt back on, holding up his arms in exultation for the crowd, which has practically gone wild.

 “You quite done yet, brother?” Shouts a rough voice from nearby.

“Quite,” Joe says, pleased. “And by the way, Kalashnikov, do me a favor and clean this for me.”

“Fuk-ushima, Joe, what did you _do_ with the damned _colt_?”


End file.
